


spare repentance

by Fuckboy Phoebus (The_Resurrection_3D)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Background Poly, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Canon, Tom/Tord Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 14:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20996612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: It’s the movie with the gaslight lamps turned too low, just off enough to itch in your brain like a maggot infestation.You wish he would tell you where it is, because soon you’ll have no choice but to scratch it out.





	spare repentance

**Author's Note:**

> apparently I wrote this last June for a friend, never really finished it. i'm just a kid and life is a nightmare

You can always see the tension leech out of Tord once he has his arm back on. It’s not much when he’s around you, at least not anymore, but it’s there.

But there’s more to it, and you wish he’d tell you what it is.

Starting, for example, with the looks he gives you when he’s drunk.

Oh sure, he’s fun at first, loud and jovial, returning ever jab and kick from you with one of his own, knocking lamps down as you tussle.

  
Until he isn’t.

  
Until he’s leaning over you with your cock in his hand, making your writhe shamefully as that one silver eye regards you with a look you’ve forced yourself to not read as disgust.

  
In these moods he’ll say not a word as he brings you over the edge, wiping your seed on the closest thing he can find, usually your shirt. (Which you wish he wouldn’t do, but he never listens.)

  
When he’s satisfied he’ll trace the flesh of your inner arm, causing you to shudder as your overstimulated nerves kick against each other.

  
Then he’ll raise your knuckles to his lips and kiss them, one by one. Whispering “good boy” as that one silver eye still strips your skin away.

  
Sometimes he doesn’t even wear his eye patch, so you can look and see the small, black hole, skin still frayed like a gunshot wound.

You close the distance between your bodies with a kiss on his neck, ghosting your hands along his sides: one soft, a little hair, and the other bumpy and ragged. He tenses again, as he always seems to do when someone initiates touch, but he doesn’t push you away as you continue, trailing your lips down, running your tongue along the space you know makes him shudder.

And he does, so you run your hand along his stomach, scratching him with the nails you keep just long enough for Susan. He bites his lip, stifling a moan as your tongue traces circles on his throat.

“This is what you wake me up for?”

* * *

He laughs loudly, smokes cigars like they’re going out of style — he drinks with you, smiles with you, fucks Edd with you.

  
But something's wrong. It’s the movie with the gaslight lamps turned too low, just off enough to itch in your brain like a maggot infestation. 

  
You wish he would tell you where it is, because soon you’ll have no choice but to scratch it out.

* * *

  
“And here I am, cursed with boyfriends who have the least sexiest names.”

  
“Really? Like Tom’s any better.”

  
“It is. I’m a sex god, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  
“You’re right, I haven’t.”

* * *

“I dunno, Edd. I suspect it’ll be more akin to throwing a hot dog down a hallway.”

“His ass is already like that, so—“

  
But Tord cuts him off with a hoarse, bellowing laugh.

  
“Fuck both of you,” You grouse. You start crying to crawl away, but Edd grabs your hips, pulling them flush to his again.

  
“That’s what you’re doing right now, love.”

“Not when you guys keep shitting on me.”

  
“We’re just messing with you,” Tord drawls as he cups your cheeks and brings your faces together.

  
“Mhm.” You narrow your eyes. You expect him to chuckle at your scroll, or to add “well, Edd’s probably joking, anyway,” but instead a strange emotion flickers through his eye and he’s kissing you, firm but not demanding.

  
Edd lets him pull you into his lap as his lips trail down across your jaw, adding his own labor on your neck, across your shoulder.

  
Tord expresses himself best in sex, Edd has told you time and time again.

  
Tord grabs your cock and turns on his highest vibratory setting as he pumps you. You grab him by the back of the head and slam your lips together, whimpering into his mouth.

  
Maybe this means I’m sorry, and if that’s the case you’ll take it.

  
Edd runs his nails down your back and bites into your shoulder and you’ll do anything for them, anything.

* * *

You fall asleep with his arm clutched to your chest.  
  
When you awake, he’s standing over you, not saying a word.  
  
Until: “Can I have my arm back?”  
  
It takes a moment for the gears in your hazy, aching brakes to click, but you realize you’ve kept his arm from charging through the night.  
  
So you say: “I’m sorry”  
  
And you say: “I was really drunk last night.”  
  
And you say: “Won’t happen again. Promise.”  
  
He only lets out a sigh, his good arm dangling by his side, first clenched.  
  
His rage you can deal with; his disappointment you can’t.  
  
He lets out another, heavier sigh, and says, “Just give it here.”


End file.
